


Say Amen

by Levis_turtles



Category: Victor Frankenstein (2015)
Genre: Blood, Gore, M/M, Sex, Victor is a Nasty Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 17:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14061423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Levis_turtles/pseuds/Levis_turtles
Summary: ‘Swear to God I am Never Going to Repent, Mama Can I Get Another Amen?’ - Panic! At The Disco





	Say Amen

Victor Frankenstein had been called a man of perverse ambition, a creature of satanic desire. He had been ridiculed, mocked, and shunned for his fascination with the blood, the gore, and the red hot _savagery_ of it all. His seniors called him a delinquent and his peers called him a disgrace, and Victor would have it no other way.

It had been said that his methods were too rank for the sensibilities of modern society, and Victor could do nothing but laugh at those that said it. He thought that if they only knew what he was _really_ like – if they could only _see_ the extent of his desires – then they would think him no less than an unholy beast. They would find a way to kill him, at the very least – commission some Fire and Brimstone type to put an end to his embodiment of sin.

Victor had dreamt of his death at their hands on several occasions, and every time that he did, he laughed at them as he died.

The perversions hadn’t come all at once, of course; no one’s perversions came all at once. No – like all perversions, Victor’s had come over time, after many years of neglect and even more of study. He had become too close to the horrors to ever get away, too involved with the experiments to ever forget their sway. He was as involved with the science as he was his human form, and there was no one that could get in the way of that fact.

No one, but a stolen man with a stolen name.

It was _Igor_ , with his fascinations and beliefs that were so much like Victor’s own. Igor, with his physician’s mind and his nurse’s heart and his villain’s wit and his surgeon’s hands. He was, without a doubt, the most wonderful thing that Victor had ever seen, and as he watched him, he felt yet another _gross_ _indecency_ creep into his mind.

It had begun with an observation – a plain understanding that Igor, while young and strong, was also quite remarkably handsome. Victor was used to encountering brilliant minds with pale and pudgy faces, or incomparable beauties with neandertholic minds. Igor, it seemed, was the exception to every rule. He was beautiful, intelligent, charming, amusing. Victor was unused to knowing people that were so well-rounded, so perfectly balanced. Victor began to realise that his interest in Igor was less professional than he had previously thought, and he learned over time that what he had once thought of as friendship was, in actual fact, something much, _much_ darker.

As time passed, and as Victor continued to live and work with Igor, he became more and more familiar with the fiery yearning that was growing between his thighs.

It had been nothing at first – barely even there. At the circus, Igor had re-set the trapeze artist’s collar bone, and Victor had experienced a twitch, a mere taste of what was to come. Yes, Victor was as susceptible to a fairness of face as any man, but it had been Igor’s intellect – his sharp intelligence and his willingness to show it – that had turned Victor’s innocuous spark of interest into a smouldering flame of desire. 

A smouldering flame that was, at that exact moment in time, trying to convince Victor that it would be a  _brilliant_  idea to march forwards and press Igor into the worktable in the lab.

Unfortunately for Victor, his vivid imagination could picture the scene quite clearly.

Blood and gore would soak into his trousers, spreading over the knees that would bracket Igor’s hips. Victor would look down at his assistant – at his _partner_ – and openly admire his face. Igor wouldn’t look away – he wouldn’t be uncomfortable, or disgusted, or upset. Victor wouldn’t know what to call what Igor looked like – he would only know that he _loved_ _it_.

Victor would feel Igor reaching out to him, feel him beginning to reciprocate, and _feel_ the distance between them closing as he leaned down to, curiously, kiss. Their exploration of each other would be tentative, at first, but would soon escalate into something that neither of them could control. There would be heat, fire, a burning passion that neither man could – or would – dare to sever.

The blood on the table would make their touches slick, and Victor would revel in it. He would love the taste of blood on Igor’s tongue, love the sight of Igor’s stomach and thighs and throat and chest _covered_ in the blood that was Victor’s only other love. It would spur him on, the sight of the splattered gore mixing with Igor’s spit, Igor’s sweat, and Victor would reach his climax with a mouth full of blood and a name on his lips.

There would be moaning, grappling, scratching, as they tore away each other’s clothes. Victor’s shirt would be tossed to the floor, Igor’s coat would be flung across the room, until all that was left of them was _skin_ and _sweat_ and _glorious_ _heat_. Igor would not know what to do, but Victor- Victor would teach him. He would guide Igor’s hands to where they needed to be, tease Igor’s skin with kisses and caresses. They would touch and bite and fuck and Victor – for all of his perversions – would be, for a moment, content.

But of course, that fantasy would remain as such. It was only a daydream, and could only ever be a daydream. Victor couldn’t expose Igor to the sides of Victor that were even darker than his scientific curiosities, and he couldn’t risk the rejection. Victor was a man of little impulse control, that much was true, but he was also a man of loss. He knew what it was like to lose someone he cared about – he had lost so many people over the years – and if there was one thing he knew, it was that he would not lose Igor as well.

Steeling himself, Victor ignored the sight of Igor up to his elbows in blood. He ignored the hot rush of blood in his ears, the pounding of his heart, the urges of his groin. Biting his lip to reinforce himself, Victor turned his back on Igor, and quickly fled the room.

He ignored Igor’s calls and climbed out of the lab, marching with purpose to the one room where he knew he would not be discovered – Igor’s bedroom. There, he locked the door behind him, threw himself on to the bed, inhaled Igor’s perfect scent, and slipped his hands into his pants.

Victor was not going to lose Igor - and certainly not over something like this - but he also was not going to do without the pleasures that he craved. 

And so, biting his lip to muffle his cries, Victor Frankenstein brought himself off to the idea of Igor Strausman and, for the first time in his life, asked the God to forgive him for this sin.


End file.
